


Take the Bull by its Horns

by RiaTheDreamer



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Dragon Age AU, Falling In Love, Fantastic Racism, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Illustrated, M/M, Mage!Simmons, Qunari!Grif, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer
Summary: Being a mage, Simmons is not used to being trusted. But tasked with studying a magical orb, he now has a chance to prove his worth.He is thankful for that, of course.The problem is just that Grand Duke Genkins has too many secrets to make the task easy - one of them being a lazy Qunari that has the audacity to break Simmons' concentration.(A Dragon Age AU)





	Take the Bull by its Horns

**Author's Note:**

> This is, obviously, a Dragon Age au. It should be readable without having played the games, but probably a bit confusion. Still, I hope you all will enjoy it!

Simmons knew that most people were afraid of mages. But he had a growing feeling that he might be viewed as pathetic rather than a bomb ready to explode at any moment. At least, the sight of his Templar made him feel so.

His guard didn’t seem old enough to grow a proper beard. The stubble on his chin revealed as much. The large armor practically swaddled him. So young, though Simmons had been way younger when he’d been brought to the Circle. Duty never cared about age.

But still, Simmons doubted this Templar could protect the city should his magic go out of control. Simmons had envisioned being killed by Templars several times before, but this adolescent face didn’t fit his imagination.

The Templar’s name was Bitters, but Simmons only knew it from overhearing a conversation between the guards.

“Do you- do you know how long I’ll be working for Grand Duke Genkins?”

“I don’t know? Until you’re done? I just got told to follow you back and forth.”

Simmons turned his head, looking at the busy streets next to them. It’d been a long while since he’d left the inside of the Circle, but the city hadn’t changed much. It was the same masks, the same accents, the same business and songs and laughs.

It was a lot of impressions at once, but he knew he’d come to miss them once he was done with the task. The Circle was the perfect place to study, but trips like this were rare occasions to take a break from the everyday life.

Of course, it’d been a source of worry – he knew that mages were feared, and most would rather never come face to face with one. Which was why the Templar was accompanying him. To protect Simmons from the city, and vice versa.

And though the many glances thrown in his direction were unnerving, he looked forward to the project he’d been sent to work on. It’d be a different kind of study, and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on new books.

Bitters didn’t seem faced by Simmons’ constant twitching. He just looked bored, if Simmons could point out one expression that could be traced in his young face.

Most Templars didn’t speak to the mages they were supposed to protect. But Simmons would rather disturb Bitters than the Grand Duke.

“Rumors say Grand Duke Genkins keeps a dragon somewhere in his mansion. That’s cool.” The young warrior looked a bit too pleased at the thought. “If you see it somewhere, you tell me.”

“I- I don’t really think he has a dragon. That would be very impractical.”

“Maybe he has a big cellar.”

Simmons didn’t expect anything else. He hadn’t met Grand Duke Genkins before, but his mansion was so enormous it could be seen all the way from the Circle. The fact that Simmons was going to set a foot inside of it was thrilling.

“Do you… Do you know why I was chosen?” Simmons dared to ask. The First Enchanter had been brief when he’d approached Simmons, just letting him know that a Lord – the Grand Duke, nonetheless – required the skills of a mage and had asked for Simmons by name.

Bitters just shrugged, looking more interested in the bakery they had just passed. “You have the same interests, and all that. Spirits. That sorta stuff. I don’t know. I wasn’t told much.”

“Oh.”

“You did well in your Harrowing. They mentioned that.”

Had Bitters even been there for the ritual? Simmons could not remember, though he figured that was the case – the entire hall had been filled with Templars back then, ready to step in should Simmons fail.

He’d spent his nights sleepless at the thought of messing up – he could still hear his father yell ‘failure’ inside his mind, even though it’d been so many years since he’d last seen him – and for a moment he’d been sure, when he’d faced the demon he’d faltered just for a moment but-

He’d made it. He had resisted the demon, resisted its temptation. He’d become a full member of the Circle instead of a mere apprentice. He hadn’t turned into an abomination, possessed by a demon, Templars standing ready to kill him the moment he screwed up.

But there was no need to dwell on fears of the past. Simmons flexed his fingers nervously but forced himself to raise his chin.

He was a true mage now, and he had a job to fulfill.

* * *

The Grand Duke was, somehow, more shiny than his mansion.

“Welcome, welcome!” he said, spreading out his arms so his green cape swung back and forth behind him. “You must be Simmons! Come inside now. Cake?”

He held a tray towards him – silver like the material of his mask. While he’d lived in Orlais half of his life by this point, Simmons was still getting used to the fashion styles in the kingdom. The masks were just so unnerving at times, when you could not read their faces. Not to mention how hilariously they were shaped.

Simmons had to choke back a snort when he noticed how the Grand Duke’s mask even had a pointy nose and mustache shaped into it. He wondered if the facial hair actually existed behind the mask.

When he’d been a child and had walked through the city for the first time, Templars leading him to the Circle, he’d looked at all the masks in the crowd of citizens at the market. Faces shaped in metal, silver and gold, jewels and feathers engraved to show off family colors. To be without a mask meant that you were not important enough to wear one. And the citizens in the kingdom of Orlais wanted to be important.

The cakes did look delicious, small and round with yellow cream on top of them. But it was unexpected, nonetheless. “Uhm?”

Grand Duke Genkins spun around to shove the tray towards the unexpecting Bitters. “For you as well!”

The oversized armor seemed to rattle when he jumped in surprise. His expression was hidden behind the visor, but he was quick to reach out and grab a snack.

The Grand Duke then placed the tray in the gloved hands and used his now free arm to lead a stunned Simmons down the hallway, leaving Bitters behind.

 “Come now. If everything I’ve been told about you is true, you want to see my task for you right away! I’m sure you’re excited!”

That was one way to describe the butterflies in Simmons’ stomach. Anxiety was another way. “I… What have you been told about me? If I may ask?” he said, trying not to stumble over his own words. He wasn’t used to converse with nobility. It was one of the things that he liked about the secluded life in the Circle – he didn’t have to worry about the political games between noble houses.

“That you are a clever, talented mage who has just passed their Harrowing with an interest for old artifacts. That does sound like you, am I correct?”

Simmons felt oddly naked with his bare face, but the masks had never been popular in Ferelden and Simmons, despite everything, still had strong connections to his homeland. Though, right now it felt as if the Grand Duke could see right through him, see how he spent every night alone with a book, how he’d cried when he’d been told he was a mage, what the demon had tried to tempt him with…

“Yes…” he said, wondering if the descriptions of him were positive or negative. Presumably positive, but he’d always been called a nerd for his joy of studying.

“Splendid!” the Grand Duke said. He sat down in one of the two chairs near a colored window and gestured for Simmons to join him. “So, here’s the thing. I quite loathe being bored, and thus I adore travelling. There isn’t a corner I haven’t put my shiny boot on. And on my last trip out, I got my hands on this.”

He pulled the cloth off the round object on the table between them. The orb – shiny and silvery with symbols and jewels engraved in its surface – barely stood out in the room. It wasn’t due to its obvious worth, but during his brief time in the mansion, Simmons had seen so many things of gold and silver and jewels, heavy curtains, wooden furniture carved into masterpieces.

The orb just seemed to fit in among the already collected ornaments.

And yet – Simmons could feel the magic radiate from it, small vibrations through the air, calling to him from the other side of the Veil.

He quickly collected his thoughts, knowing better than to let the magic get a hold of him.

Magic must serve man, not rule over him. That was the Maker’s second commandment, and Simmons intended to follow it. Anything else would mean failure and death. Simmons despised failure – and death.

“It’s incredible,” he said, his hands inching closer as if the orb was a source of warmth.

“I certainly think so myself.”

“Grand Duke, I-“ Leaning closer, he saw the symbols up-close. He couldn’t quite recognize them – something that annoyed him after spending most of his life in front of a book – and that just tempted him with a challenge. “I can’t imagine how you found this.”

“Actually, I bought it. From some owners who did not have much to say about it. I sure hope it’s real, otherwise that’s a small fortune wasted. Oh well. The place had the loveliest drinks.”

“Do you- do you want me to trace its origin?”

He waved his hand at the thought. “Oh, yes, you can do that,” the Grand Duke said without much care in his voice. “I’m very interested in what it is, and what it can do. But I’m far too busy for such menial work. But it seems like it’s just the task for you.” Perhaps there was a smile behind the mask, but Simmons couldn’t tell. “Take whatever books you need, go wherever you want. Of course, your little watchdog has to stay in the mansion, but feel free to exploit my generosity. People like you deserve some new refreshing views time to time, am I right?”

There was a condescending tone in his voice, but Simmons was sure he was just trying to be seem understanding. After all, the life of mages was quite strange to those who hadn’t experienced it. Spending every day inside the same fortress must sound awfully boring to the outside world, but that was the way things worked.

Mages stayed isolated, and everyone was safe. Simmons knew that many of his fellow scholars were not happy about their lives. They were quite vocal about it too, but never in the hearing range of the Templars. But his roommates could complain about anything – the dinner, the weather, the robes. Always complaining. Simmons had quickly learned to ignore them.

“Thank you,” Simmons said, meaning every word. This was a task just for him – not just to prove his worth, but to keep himself busy. He liked his life at the Circle, despite everything, but the Grand Duke was of course right: spending some days out of the fortress would only be a good experience for him. “I’ll write down and deliver my process every day, I promise-“

“Splendid!” Grand Duke Genkins said and slammed his palms together so the bells tied to his shoulder pads rang. “Well, no need to keep you distracted. I can recommend the gardens as the most pleasant place to read – especially in these summer days. But of course you can only have my words for it.”

Simmons ended up following his advice, but first after spending the rest of the forenoon in the library. He remembered the day he’d been brought to the Circle, only ten years old, and back then he’d been sure that his new home had the biggest library in all of Thedas. It’d made him feel at home, even during his first nervous days. There were so many books he was yet to open.

The library in the mansion brought back the same childish excitement, and Simmons barely felt time fly by as he opened one book after another, trying to choose the ones who could help him with his research.

Next step was to transcribe the symbols from the orb. They were not Elven, at least not what Simmons could recognize at first sight. Maybe older?

The orb was covered with them, and by the time that Simmons laid down his quill, his hand had suffered several cramps. He winced and twisted his head to look out of the window. The sun was slowly beginning to set, coloring the sky orange above the marvel garden wall.

Colorful flowers were crawling their way up against them, the rest of the garden being just as vibrant with huge bushes and trees full of ripe fruit.

Simmons found himself leaning out of the window until he felt the gentle breeze on his face. A small walk could not hurt. Even the Grand Duke had allowed him to roam around.

Bitters had checked on him several times throughout the day, a cake in his hand whenever he opened the door. He was not present at the moment, but Simmons supposed the Templar could find him if needed. That was his job, after all.

The Circle had a garden, too, but it was smaller and more barren.

Now Simmons felt as if he was walking in the Arbor Wilds. The plants towered above him, but the sweet smell was alluring, and he found himself walking deeper into the beauty in order to admire it.

Several benches were placed next to fountains and statues, and Simmons planned where to study the next couple of days. It was rare for mages to be allowed this sort of freedom, he could at least use it well. And he must remember to thank the Grand Duke for his trust.

The green color cracked when he moved closer to what he discovered to be a wooden building. A stable, perhaps. The smell of straw reached his nostrils.

Compared to the rest of the garden with its flawlessly shaped bushes – dragons and knights were some of the majorly played themes – the stable seemed rather sloppy. There were deep cracks between the wooden planks, allowing Simmons to see the movement within.

He expected horses. Maybe a Halla, if the Grand Duke was really exotic.

Simmons caught the silhouette of horns.

He froze, suddenly remembering his conversation with Bitters. No, this could not be a dragon. It would be far too small – a real dragon would be larger than the entire stable. But still – he couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly he had seen.

Could it be a Halla? He knew they had antlers, but he had never seen such a stag before.

He took a step closer. He could hardly be scolded for looking through the boards.

The silhouette moved again, and this time he had a better view. It was human, definitely, standing on two legs.

But-

But the horns. They were still there. Four of them, to be exact. He had never heard of that before, though he was now sure just what he was looking at.

“Qunari,” he whispered, nose bumping against the wood. He blinked in surprise, not aware that he’d come this close.

He’d heard of the race before, of course. The stories had spread everywhere, about the attacks, the ransacks, the previous wars.

And he’d read about them, though the studies about the race was limited. It wasn’t just a race, he supposed. It was a people, and a belief. The Qunari lived isolated, followed the beliefs of the Qun. The Chantry naturally frowned at them for not following the words of the Maker.

But the Qunaris were strange like that. Simmons didn’t know much, but he’d heard the usual whispers, about how Qunaris didn’t have names, only work titles, they didn’t have any families, women weren’t allowed to fight, anyone who disagreed with their politics were tortured or killed… Beasts, he’d heard some of his fellow mages call them.

But he doubted they’d ever seen a real one before.

Simmons jumped when the Qunari suddenly spun around to meet his stare. He was close enough to realize that the Qunari’s eyes were brown.

“What did you say?” it asked him, head tilted. It was outfitted with four horns, two pointing towards the roof of the stable while the others were curled beneath them.

How strange, Simmons thought. He’d always thought Qunaris only had two horns in total. It was somehow impressing and terrifying at the same time.

But he had never thought Qunaris could be overweight, but this one was far chubbier than the drawings Simmons had seen of the race.

Its skin was more brown than grey, and an orange tattoo covered his right arm. Simmons couldn’t quite make out the symbols. It was rather distracting that the Qunari wasn’t wearing any clothes except a torn pair of canvas pants. But as he thought about it, Simmons realized he wasn’t even sure how could wear any shirts with those horns in the way. Qunaris were weird like that.

Simmons considered just backing away, but the brown eyes were staring so intensely at him, he felt obligated to answer the question. He swallowed, trying to find his voice. “You’re- You’re a Qunari.”

“Oh fuck, did you guess that? The horns usually give it away,” it snorted.

It took a second before Simmons realized that he was joking with him, but it was made clear when it rolled the brown eyes. It stepped closer to the wooden boards, head still tilted in curiosity.

Simmons suddenly felt like he was the one being examined. “What are you doing here?” he asked, because he was certain that it shouldn’t be possible to find a Qunari in a stable in Orlais.

“Dude, I’m pretty sure you’re the one not supposed to be here.”

Simmons took a step closer. “You’re… Why are you in a stable?”

“Genkins’ idea of a joke,” he said, blinking. “Oxmen and all that. Just like cattle.” He said it with a snort, but the more Simmons stared at him, the more he realized how humane the race actually seemed. Still far too large to pass as one, and their horns, of course, and pointed ears made them stand out. But they weren’t as monstrous as Simmons had imagined, and the Qunari hadn’t even tried to kill him yet. Instead, he just crossed his arms. “Believe it or not, the straw is more comfortable than it looks. Perfect for napping.”

Simmons looked at the straw-covered floor and tried not to look disgusted at the thought of touching it. “So you just… live here?” he asked, still unsure of what the situation actually was. When the Qunari nodded, he asked again: “Is that allowed?”

He just shrugged. “Hey, it’s not my choice. If you wanna nag someone about it, go to Genkins.”

Something cold settled in Simmons’ stomach. He took a step backwards. “Are you a slave?”

The Qunari doesn’t manage to hide his own wince in time. “Why do you care?” he then asked Simmons, brown eyes narrowing.

“It’s not legal,” Simmons said stiffly because it was the truth. At least in this part of Thedas. He knew it was different in Tevinter, but no one would dare to step their foot that far north.

The mood suddenly shifted when the Qunari came close enough to press his palms against the boards separating them. “Do you have any food?” he asked him, eyes wider than before.

There was a sense of urgency in his voice that, mixed with his presence in the stable, made Simmons reach inside the pockets of his robe. “Uhm…” he said, finally finding his little bag with dried fruit. “I have this.”

“Gimme.” A brown-skinned finger covered with calluses reached through the gap between the boards. “Please and thank you and all that.”

The fruit was shoved inside his mouth before Simmons could blink. “How long have you been here?” he asked while the Qunari chewed.

“Forever,” he said with his mouth full. It did not help with the reputation that Qunaris were uncivilized beasts that wanted nothing but chaos and destruction. But his face softened when he noticed Simmons’ confusion. “I mean, not always. Just- a fucking long time.”

The bitterness was dripping off his tongue.

“Do you just… stay here?” Simmons asked him. He tried to make his tone soft, but instead it came out as spiteful. He could not help it – he could see the dirt on the floor from here. “In the straw?”

“Hah, I wish,” he said, followed by a barking laugh. He fell quiet when Simmons didn’t respond, taking a moment to think before he said, “Well, I do that. When I can. Did I mention napping is awesome? Way better than dragging heavy crates around.”

He said it so casually, but the knot in Simmons’ stomach twisted in discomfort. He looked over his shoulder, suddenly afraid if someone was watching them. “I should go,” he said, already moving away from the stable.

The brown eyes watched him through the gap. “But you’re coming back,” he called after him. “Right?”

“What’s it to you?” Simmons asked, not sure what the answer would be.

“You could bring back food!” the Qunari yelled in order to be heard. “I’m Grif, by the way!”

For a bitter moment, Simmons wished he hadn’t been able to hear the last part. Suddenly having a name for the Qunari only increased the uneasiness, and he felt obligated to give him a name in return. Still, he hesitated before he yelled back, “Simmons.”

And then he hurried back inside the mansion, before the Qunari could yell a reply.

* * *

“Is your work going well?” the Grand Duke asked him the next day, leaning over his shoulder to look at the orb in his hands. “It must certainly be keeping you busy.”

“Grand Duke Genkins.” Simmons jumped in his seat, feeling jittery. He almost lost his grip on the artifact. Its silver surface was smooth. “I, uh- I’m still working on the transcription, but- I’m certainly making progress! I think…” He cleared his throat before pressing a finger against one of the engraved symbols. “This word here is repeated several times! So that has to be important! I think it says ‘Chrovos’?”

“Well, that sounds important! And very mysterious… Oooh…” The silver mask of the Grand Duke was still looming above him. “I won’t disturb you! Remember, feel free to roam around! I know how much you mages must enjoy fresh air.”

The green cape brushed against Simmons’ leg when the Grand Duke finally left his personal sphere. Simmons felt like he could breathe again. He could hardly blame the Grand Duke for the incident – he’d always valued his privacy, ever since he remembered Templar hands pulling him out of his mother’s grip. “I… Thank you,” he said, once again appreciating how the Grand Duke was giving him this chance.

The sleeping quarters of his Circle had been buzzing with whispers when he’d returned home yesterday. They had wanted to know anything, but along with the questions were a few snarky remarks about Simmons’ competence that had made him retreat to his bed early.

He hadn’t told anyone about the Qunari. Not even Bitters. He wasn’t sure why.

He ran his fingers across the orb again, symbols familiar to him now. Familiar but still incomprehensible. But he was working on that.

Allowing himself to use the freedom disposed to him, he fetched himself a glass of wine and another small cake from the trays that seemed to be everywhere in the mansion, refilled by several Elven servants.

It was nice, all the treats while shifting between reading and scribbling down notes. The artifact was clearly magical, but he couldn’t quite point out the source. He preferred the School of Spirit himself, and he felt something familiar in its core, but still… He couldn’t put his finger on it.

But the symbols spoke of a Chrovos. And this sign- perhaps the Old Gods? A shiver travelled down his spine. Anything related to Darkspawn always managed to give him nightmares. Even though he’d never experienced a Blight himself, he could still imagine bloodthirsty creatures spreading havoc across the kingdoms, tearing down anything in their path, killing and tainting wherever they came.

Perhaps he read it all wrong. Simmons smacked the book together. The symbols did not match the Elven ones. Maybe it had another origin?

When his glass was empty and stomach full, he found himself looking out of the window again. The garden was beneath him in all its splendor.

A small walk wouldn’t hurt his tired head.

“Hello?” he asked, suddenly feeling unsure as he inched towards the table. It looked untouched from yesterday. Maybe none of the servants had seen them. Maybe they didn’t care.

“Simmons!” a happy voiced called from within. A second later and he could see the Qunari – Grif – pressed against the boards. “Oh man, have I been waiting for you. Do you have food?”

The fingers were already reaching through the gaps again.

Simmons swallowed what little spit was left in his mouth. “Doesn’t he feed you?” He supposed he should already know the answer to that – Grif’s chubbiness must come from something.

 “Of course he does.” He rolled his eyes and Simmons was close enough to see the white in them. “But have you ever heard of second dishes? Because Genkins obviously hasn’t.”

Flexing his hands quietly, Simmons could not help but notice how Grif never used any titles. He could not imagine the Grand Duke being happy about such disrespect. It made Simmons nervous, just hearing it.

“I have this,” he said, handing over another small bag of fruit. The fingers grabbed it immediately, and Simmons tried to shake off the memory of feeding his father’s wild dogs through the bars of their cages. 

 “Are you a prisoner?” Simmons asked while the Qunari ate.

“Nah.”

“A slave?”

“I guess. There was a contract.” Grif held a cube of fruit between his fingers, then threw it into his open mouth. He swallowed. “’sides, Genkins wants me to stay here, and he becomes a very angry crybaby if he doesn’t get it his way.”

His dark tone kept Simmons from asking into it. The Grand Duke had been so welcoming, it was hard to imagine him furious. He turned his head as he asked, “So you just… stay in a stable?”

“I used to have a room but then I might have told him to shove his pointy mask up his asshole,” Grif answered while licking his fingers. “He _loves_ the irony of this punishment. Could be worse, though.” He coughed twice before looking down at him again. “So why are you here, _Simmons_?”

The way he spoke his name, slowly pronouncing each syllable, made Simmons shift the weight on his feet. His face felt hot. “I… work for Grand Duke Genkins,” he finally admitted.

“So you’re the new maid?”

“ _No_ ,” he snarled at the teasing. Crossing his arms, he was sure to let Grif know: “I am doing very important work.”

“Right.”

“I am,” he insisted at the Qunari’s sarcastic tone.

“What? Washing the floors? Polishing his silverware?”

“No, I’m-“ he cut himself off, realizing what to say instead. “I am not allowed to tell you,” he replied calmly, raising his chin. He wasn’t quite sure if this was the truth, but it did make him feel important.

For a moment the brown eyes just stared at him. Then they blinked before narrowing. “Are you a mage?” the Qunari demanded to know.

Instinctively, Simmons took a step backwards. He could feel invisible flames tickle the tips of his fingers. “What? How did you-?”

Grif just shrugged. “Soldiers are all about direct threats. ‘Imma smash your forehead and tear your horns off with my bare hands’, stuff like that. Mages like to be all mysterious and secretive, so we fear them more.”

Simmons remembered the fear before the day he’d woken up with a frozen bed. He remembered the talk in the village, the aftermath of an Abomination – a mage had lost control to a demon, had become possessed, and too many lives had been ruined in the process. He remembered thinking the Templars were the heroes in the world, admiring how they would sacrifice their lives to keep them safe from cruel magic.

Then the dreams had begun, and one day the frost had appeared from his fingers. He had become what the world feared, and because of this he had to stay in a Circle with other mages. To keep them safe, and to keep them world safe.

Magic must serve man, not rule over him.

“That’s not true,” Simmons said, and to his surprise, he realized the burning warmth inside of him came from anger. He clenched his fists. “We don’t want that. That’s why we stay in the Circle and have Templars watch us, just so people can stop being- stop being afraid.”

Despite his words, Grif did not look frightened. At all. He met Simmons’ eyes without faltering. “Well, I’m not pissing my pants but I sure as hell won’t be pissing Genkins off. At least, not too badly. You on the other hand? I get why you get to walk around unsupervised.”

“I-“ Simmons had already begun to feel offended, trying to come up with a clever reply. Then he realized just what Grif had said, and his jaw immediately dropped. “The Grand Duke isn’t a mage.”

“Uh, yes he is,” Grif said dryly.

“No,” Simmons insisted. “He isn’t.”

“Sure. You know that normal people can’t just shoot fire from their hands, right?”

“If he was a mage he’d be in a Circle,” Simmons said slowly. This should be clear to anyone. But then again: this was a Qunari. Perhaps he knew little about how the world actually worked. “And he isn’t. So he isn’t a mage.”

To his surprise, Grif’s dark face split into a grin. “Oh man, I’d love to see the Templar who’d have enough shit luck to get to watch Genkins.” His eyes were distant with amusement before they landed on Simmons again. “Do you even have a Templar following you around? Or did they figure the worst thing you could do is to burn your own eyebrows off?”

He should ignore the teasing. Simmons was aware of that fact. He should just walk away. A Qunari wasn’t worth his time. But the teasing had been a persistent plague in the Circle, and now it just worsened his already unstable temper.

Simmons decided he didn’t like Qunaris.

“I am a very good and powerful mage, and there’s a Templar right nearby because I could-“ He trailed off, inhaling through his noise. His chest still felt as if it was burning. The brown eyes were still staring at him. It reminded him of the demon in the Fade, the day he passed his harrowing. It’d stared at him as it tempted him. “I’m not supposed to speak with you,” Simmons finally said, turning away.

This time Grif said nothing as he left.

* * *

The orb was warm beneath his palms. He still wasn’t sure why. Simmons had spent the entire day staring at the artifact, and he still hadn’t come closer to any answers. It’d only served to worsen his headache.

He had troubles focusing today, head constantly turning to stare out of the window through the painted glass. The fire in his chest had become duller but it was still present.

He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself down by the familiar touch of the symbols, like ravines in a silver landscape.

And eventually, he gave in to the temptation. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. It wasn’t a demon. Just a Qunari. He could handle giving into his pride, just this once.

So he left the study to find Bitters. The Templar was still where he last saw him, in the chair next to the tray of cakes. “Bitters?” he asked as he came to stand in front of him.

His helmet was off, allowing Simmons to see his blue eyes as he looked up at him with a bored expression. “Hmm?” he said, mouth full.

Simmons twiddled his thumbs. “Do you…” He cleared his throat. “Want to go in the gardens with me?”

Bitters froze in his seat. His eyes narrowed as he looked Simmons over. “Uuuhhhh…” he finally said. “We are not supposed to fratricide with the mages.”

Simmons blinked.  “Fratricide?”

“Franigice?” Bitters tried again, sounding even more unsure.

“Fraternize?”

“Sure,” the Templar said. “We can’t do that.”

Simmons immediately lowered his head, cheeks burning. “Oh, I’m not- I just-“ He stuttered, not even sure of what to say, but definitely not what Bitters had hinted. “It’s a nice garden and I want to go there but you are supposed to keep an eye on me-“

“Urgh,” Bitters sighed, shoving one last cake in his mouth before leaving his chair. As he walked past Simmons, he muttered under his breath. “I hate my job.”

Simmons wondered why he had joined the Order in the first place. Unlike mages, Templars actually had a choice. They were not born to fight against evil magic. They chose it. And honorable lifestyle, sure, serving the Maker and the Chantry, but it wasn’t as if they had been torn out of their mother’s embrace to be taken away from home.

Shoving away the bitters thoughts, Simmons made sure to focus on his plan instead. There was a Qunari in the stable, within hearing range, and he thought that Simmons was shit at being a mage.

Time to prove him wrong.

As they walked through the gardens, Bitters apparently untouched by the beauty, Simmons made sure to raise his voice. “I sure feel safer, out here, right now, with _my Templar_ following me around because I am _a powerful mage_ who could do a lot of harm if out of control. But I’m not! Because I am a good but still powerful mage and-“

It was Bitters who eventually cut him off. “Is this some propaganda shit?” he asked. His face was screwed up in confusion.

Simmons froze in the middle of a step, cheeks burning again. Slowly, he turned his head. “Uuuuuuh… Am I in trouble?”

The Templar just shrugged and the large shoulders pads of the armor almost touched his ears. “Pretty sure the Circle don’t mind pro-Circle talk.”

With the relief that his pride at least hadn’t lead him into punishment, Simmons gave into his curiosity next, walking closer to the stable again. Peeking through the gaps again made it clear that Grif was gone.

 “Looking for anything?” Bitters asked, head suddenly right next to Simmons’. “Is there a dragon in there?”

“No,” Simmons sighed sadly.

* * *

Grif was still missing the next day. Simmons discovered this by checking the stable as the first step in his work routine. Trying not to look too disappointed, he returned inside the mansion to focus on his assignment. He could not afford to get distracted. The Grand Duke trusted him to study the orb, after all.

It was a sunny day, he realized, as sun beams reached him through the window, causing him to narrow his eyes in order to read the page. He was about to sigh in annoyance before he understood he could use it as a resource.

Carrying the orb carefully in his hands, he walked to the eastern balcony. It took some time but eventually he settled in on the table so the rays of the sun would hit it.

He watched in interest how they seemed to bounce off the silver, the symbols turning golden – and then he immediately began to write down his observations.

An hour later, drops of sweat were falling from his forehead to land on his papers. He quickly tried to wipe them off with the back of his hand, only to become aware of how sweaty his robe was. He pulled up his sleeves, cursing the heat.

That’s when he looked down at the courtyard below.

Grif was there.

The Qunari was dragging a wooden slab with a pile of bricks, straps connecting his torso to the weight, like a ball and chain. Sweat was dripping off his bare torso, and Simmons could see him panting even from here.

 “Grif!” he yelled – then almost throwing a hand over his mouth, eyes darting around to see if anyone had heard them.

The Qunari tilted his head back to look at him, horns touching his shoulders in the process. “Yo,” he said, smile appearing in his exhausted expression. He was still trying to catch his breath, chest heaving at every breath.

Simmons frowned, feeling the sun burn the top of his head mercilessly. If he leaned back in his chair, he could fall into the shade, enjoy a glass of cold wine and a piece of cake.

Suddenly, the sweet aftertaste in his mouth turned sickening.

 “What’s that?” Grif asked him, nodding towards where Simmons was sitting.

It took him a moment before he realized he was gesturing towards the orb glinting in the sunlight. “It’s a… Uh…” He trailed off, still needing the words to describe the artifact.

“I mean the cake,” Grif corrected him.

There was a slight disappointment that Grif wasn’t interested in his study, but Simmons forced himself to forget it. “I suppose you want some,” he said, picking up the plate. He held it in the air.

“C’mon,” the Qunari whined like a sad puppy. “I’m starving.”

Simmons’ conscience reminded him that Grif might not be lying. “Fine,” he said, knowing better than the be greedy in the Maker’s eyes.

For a moment he considered just throwing the cake down the awaiting Grif. He was sure the Qunari wouldn’t mind. But the risk of a mess kept him from doing so, and instead he turned inside to walk down the stairs with the plate in his hand.

When he stepped into the courtyard, Grif was gone. 

* * *

“How is my favorite young mage faring?” Genkins asked him the next day.

Simmons’ stunned expression was reflected in his silver mask when he looked up from his book. “I think it might be Tevinter!” he said, voice full of excitement from his find. “The symbols don’t quite match the Elven ones, though they might just be older than I’m used to, but I’ve- I’ve never seen anything like this!” He felt breathless, energized by his discoveries. He’d managed to keep his head clear today. No distractions, no walks in the garden. “It’s certainly magic, but I can’t figure out exactly what it is. It’s definitely not Creation. Not Primal, either. Maybe Spirit?” He hummed thoughtfully, lost in his own thoughts. “It’s powerful, I can feel that. And very old.”

A jewel-embroidered glove squeezed his shoulder. “Sounds like you are doing quite some work! Such a focused student, never distracted, never lollygagging around,” the Grand Duke praised him, drawing out every word. “I am so glad I hired you.”

His mask was stuck in an eternal smile, and Simmons did his best to return it, though his entire back suddenly felt chilled.

The Grand Duke picked the cherry off Simmons’ cake before leaving, telling him over his shoulder. “Keep up the good work!”

* * *

Grif was in the stable again, rather than in the courtyard, giving Simmons the chance to give him his own lunch, fresh from the mansion’s kitchen.

The Qunari had looked as if he was about to cry when he’d stuffed his mouth with chocolate covered strawberries.

“So how did you get stuck in Orlais?” he asked Simmons while chewing. He’d sat down in the straw, Simmons mirroring his position on the other side of the wooden boards.

For a moment he was alert – then he understood that Grif could probably tell his Ferelden heritage from his accent. He’d never quite managed to get rid of it, even after spending half of his life in Orlais. “I am a mage,” he said. “I joined the Circle.”

“Still. You got sent to another country? That’s a bit extreme, even for you mages.”

“My family had some contacts…” He trailed off, suddenly seeing his father’s disappointed face on the inside of his eyelids. He tried to shake off the painful memory. “And my Circle is a good one. So I’m- I’m not complaining or anything.”

He knew he was lucky. He knew that other mages had the right to complain. If the rumors were true, at least. But the rumors were horrible, no matter what. Circles where mages would be beaten, locked up, forgotten, mistreated, starved, abused.

Despite everything, Simmons knew he owed his father for sending him far away, even though he knew his true intentions.

But even though his own Circle was calm, it didn’t mean that all mages found it perfect. Some months ago, two apprentices had simply vanished in the night, fleeing in order to get the freedom the Circle denied them.

While Simmons didn’t agree, he could somewhat understand them. They had been young, wanting their own life without restriction. Young and stupid. But somehow clever enough to escape.

“Well, I am certainly complaining,” Grif said, lying down with his palms beneath his head. He looked at the ceiling, sighing deeply. “This place sucks.”

“You said you weren’t really a slave. Why not just leave?”

“Because…” He stopped, seemingly trying to find the right words. A flash of anger crossed his face. “Because Genkins won’t let me. The whole contract thing, I don’t know what it says.”

“You didn’t see it?” Simmons gasped, immediately alert. “Or you can’t read?”

Grif smacked his lips. “Wow, that’s very racist of you, Simmons. The big, primitive oxman certainly can’t read.”

By now, Simmons had come to recognize his dry tone as teasing. But still, he couldn’t help but ask: “…But can you?”

“No one taught me, alright,” Grif said bitterly. His fingers dug into the straw beneath them. “People tend to stick their nose in their own book and not really care who they are tripping over.”

“Were there any schools? I- I don’t know much about the Qun and-“

“Dude, I don’t have anything to do with the Qun.”

Simmons breathed in deeply. “I figured.”

Brown eyes snapped towards him. “Really?”

He shifted, inhaling the scent of ripe oranges and maroon flowers. “You’re not really- I mean, we all hear tales and-“

“I’m not a bloodthirsty, dangerous fanatic ready to tear of your head?” Grif said dryly. “Look, no, I don’t have anything to do with the Qun. I’ve never been at Par Vollen or- or Seheron. ‘least not what I can remember. I don’t know about their religion or whatever they call it, and I don’t care about. I don’t like rules. They suck. And they’re not fun. So fuck them.”

Simmons had long come to realize that Grif was not born within the religion, that he must never had set foot on the islands belonging to the Qunaris. He didn’t fit the descriptions of the Qunaris that he’d found in the library. The books also spoke of Qunaris born in Ferelden and Orlais, never introduced to the life style of their people, instead ending up as mercenaries or traders. A rare sight, and often not a welcome one. From a single glance, you could not tell whether the Qunari followed the Qun or not.

“So you’re a- a- I don’t know the term…”

“Well, ‘real’ Qunaris call me Vashot ‘cause I’m not like them,” Grif said. “Excuse me I don’t grow up with your weirdass ideas. It gotta suck, right? No real names, no family. I don’t get it.” At the word ‘family’, his eyes got a weird look, one that Simmons could not quite recognize. “Oh, and not-Qunaris me you beast ‘cause I happen to be a Qunari, so that’s just awesome. But I guess you feel that too.”

The last sentence, seemingly sympathetic, caught Simmons off guard. The air got stuck in his throat, and his voice came out croaked as he asked, “Uh, what?”

He couldn’t quite describe the brown eyes as piercing. They were too warm for that. But they looked him over, looked _through_ him. “Right,” Grif eventually said. “You don’t talk about that.”

“About-“ Simmons blushed, unable to finish his own sentence. His fingers began to shake. “How do you know about that?”

“You being half-elf?” Grif shrugged, seeming as careless as ever. “Look, Genkins loves the sound of his own voice. So he talks. A lot.”

“But how does _he_ know?!” Simmons demanding to know. He was standing up now, having jumped from the ground in attempt to glare down at Grif.

It didn’t work for long. Slowly, stiffly as if his limbs were sore, Grif rose from the floor. With his full height, he was a head taller than Simmons without counting the horns. Despite everything, he didn’t look threatening. His eyes were too dull for that, too tired.

“Beats me,” he said in a half-sigh. “Not like you have a set of pointy ears to reveal yourself. Try horns.”

Simmons didn’t know what to say to that so he just bit his lip, tearing off skin.

Then he spun around and left.

“Simmons?” the Qunari called after him, watching him. “Ah, c’mon, are you pissy about that?”

He didn’t answer.

* * *

That night, in the bed back at the Circle, Simmons dreamt of his Harrowing. He saw the Templars ready to kill him if he failed, he saw the Fade, he saw the demon that had attempted to tempt him, to possess him.

It wasn’t a creature. It didn’t have claws or flames or fangs. It looked like a human, arms open for an embrace.

It shared a resemblance with him. They enjoyed the same books, to read in silence, to prefer studying over simple gossip. It’d promised him friendship, someone to share his clever thoughts with. It’d said that he would never have to feel lonely again, that he had finally found someone who understood him.

All he needed from Simmons was for him to let him in, to accept him and bring him back to the physical world.

Simmons had hesitated. Then he realized that no one would offer him friendship.

He’d told the demon to leave, that he needed no friends.

And thus he’d resisted its temptations.

Simmons had completed his Harrowing, and his hands had been shaking for hours afterwards.

Now he was lying in his bed, staring at the stone ceiling, and he tried to remember the face of the demon.

He wondered that maybe, in its true shape, it had horns.

* * *

When he arrived at the mansion the next day, the Grand Duke was no longer there. He’d gone on another trip, a nervous servant told him. She did not know when he would be back.

Bitters shrugged, suggesting that this just meant they could do whatever they wanted.

For Bitters that meant eating cake. For Simmons it meant glancing at the orb all day.

Except he ended up outside the stable instead.

“So I hear the Circle sucks,” Grif said while eating the cake Simmons had brought along. Today he’d managed to sneak a whole tray with him.

“It’s not so bad,” he said, resisting the urge to tell Grif to wipe the frosting off his upper lip. “It’s a good Circle. No-“ He frowned. He meant what he said. The horrors he’d heard of seemed almost unbelievable to him. “I mean, you hear rumors of other places. It’s not like that here.”

“Figured. Otherwise you wouldn’t be _here_.” He sent him a smile. “Do you get a lot of food?”

Simmons returned it and it turned smug as he replied, “Sometimes dessert too.”

Grif made a sound as if he’d stabbed him in the groin. “Damn. I wish I was a mage.” He froze, frowning. “Actually, I don’t. Pretty sure Circles are just fancy prisons. I mean, if you can’t go where you want, what’s the point? I get you have all the Templar buddies-“

“We’re not- they’re not really friends,” Simmons admitted thickly. To be fair, he’d grown rather fond of Bitters, but only because the Templar was always busy doing anything but what he was supposed to do. It gave Simmons the chance to slip away for moments like this.

“Great, so you are a loner,” Grif said, pointing at him before licking his finger.

“No.”

“And a nerd too.”

“You don’t know me.”

“You have a quill behind your ear,” the Qunari said. “And now you’re blushing.”

“Shut up,” Simmons said while plucking the feather from his red hair. He’d forgotten he’d placed it there to begin with. “I like the Circle. It’s nice and safe and quiet for reading.”

Grif threw a berry back at him, never caring if his robe got stains. “And if you want to go to the beach- nah, wait, you look like you’d get burned from just looking at the sun. Okay, so you wanna go to an even bigger library or whatever-“

“Val Royeaux,” Simmons said without realizing he had opened his mouth. But it was the truth. Ever since stepping foot in Orlais, he’d wanted to see the capital. “I’ve heard of a bookshop there and-“

“So can you go?” Grif cut him off rudely, obviously knowing the answer to his own question.

Simmons sighed. “No.” It wasn’t just the Templars guarding the fortress they lived in and watching their every move. When joining the Circle, he and all the other mages had a sample of their blood taken by the First Enchanter. It was kept in a phylactery, a glass vial crafted for them and enchanted so that if needed it could be used as a compass always pointing in their direction, letting the Templar track them down with ease.

The phylacteries were not kept at the Circle but somewhere else for safety purposes. He didn’t know where, and he supposed that was the point. After the two mages had fled, it had become clear that it was not impossible to escape, and that had been the cause of worry.

Simmons had imagined the mages would be tracked down immediately, but from what he had heard, they were still on the loose.

He doubted he would be as lucky if he was stupid enough to try to flee his Circle.

Grif nodded in satisfaction from Simmons’ one-word reply. “See – prisoner.”

“I’m safe,” Simmons retorted. “That’s a good thing.”

Circles were not only meant to keep the world safe from the mages, but vice versa. Citizens could become aggressive when frightened. And many feared magic.

“Sure – I’m safe inside this stable because Genkins would burn my insides if I tried to run,” Grif spat. “Doesn’t make this suck any less.”

“You could join the Grey Wardens,” Simmons suggested. The idea had hit him this morning as he walked to the stable. The Order was honorable, even though some of the members hadn’t exactly chosen their fate. But Darkspawns needed to be stopped, and the Wardens were trained to do so. The world needed them. And so even some crimes could be forgiven. “They take in criminals and- anybody. I’m sure-“

“Can they go where they want?” Grif said bitterly. “I’d just be a soldier fighting Darkspawns until I die. And I hate orders. And Darkspawn. And fighting. Mainly because it means death, and I also hate that. It’s not-“ He sucked in air, his left hand reached to scratch himself behind the upper horn. “The world sucks when it’s so hard to be free. Ever sailed a ship before?”

Simmons shook his head.

“It’s awesome,” the Qunari told him, a longing look in his eyes. Simmons wondered what memories was going through his head right now. He didn’t often speak of his past. “You can sleep and you still move so no one yells at you for not being fast enough.”

“So when did you find Genkins?” Simmons asked him. If Grif used to be a sailor, it had to be a long time from now.

Grif’s torso was always bare, allowing Simmons to see all his scars and bruises. Some longer and deeper than other. He recognized the white stripes on his shoulder where the straps must have bit into his skin too many times.

“Years ago,” the Qunari answered him. “And it’s the other way around. I didn’t want anything to do with this fucker, but-“ He stopped himself, eyes dark as he caught Simmons’ glance. “You should be careful. Genkins is all about exploiting people, and you are far too easy to manipulate.”

“I’m not,” Simmons insisted with is arms crossed.

“You brought me cake,” Grif said, pointing at the empty tray, deadpanned. Simmons could not defend himself from the hard facts, so he let the Qunari continue: “And if Genkins got his hands on something, it’s bound to be bad. So be careful it doesn’t blow up in your hands or anything.”

Simmons remembered the warmth from the orb and shuddered. Despite everything – the pleasant smell of the garden, the food, the conversation with Grif – he knew the Grand Duke would be expecting results for when he returned.

He could not spend the entire day at the stable.

“I should get going,” he said before promising to bring cake again tomorrow.

* * *

The Grand Duke still hadn’t returned the next day. Grif just shrugged when Simmons let him know that the Grand Duke apparently was gone for a while.

 “Yeah, he does that,” he said with a shrug. “It’s great. Until it isn’t. Whatever.”

Simmons had brought a blanket with him this time to sit more comfortably on the floor. The temptation had become stronger now when he no longer feared the Grand Duke watching them from afar. Surely, he could bring a book and converse with Grif at the same time.

But now, with a frown on his face, he closed the book on Tevinter history and looked up at the Qunari. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you usually aren’t around,” Grif said dryly. He had picked up a handful of straw, letting his fingers play with it. “So it gets pretty quiet when Genkins isn’t here to talk his mouth off. Nice the first couple of days, but he can be gone for a looong time. No idea of what he is doing.”

He could almost imagine it, the stable in the dark of the night, quiet, pacing back and forth with no distraction. Nothing to be but eat and sleep. Punishments becoming a comfort because they became a break to the constant solitude in the stable.

At least in the Circle had the daily routine, an endless number of books and fellow Mages. While Grif enjoyed napping, Simmons had a feeling he distasted the silence.

“I wish the other Mages would stay quiet,” he said, as if it could be a comfort. “They talk, even past curfew! I’m just trying to read, and they keep asking me about Genkins-“

“The atrocity!” Grif said, rolling his eyes.

Deep inside, Simmons knew that he hadn’t helped, not truly, at least the mood of the conversation had changed. He returned Grif’s smile. “I haven’t told them about you,” he then admitted, lowering his head.

He wasn’t sure if he expected Grif to be angry or disappointed, but the Qunari’s acceptance was unexpected. “Smart move. People here don’t tend to like Qunaris,” he said knowingly. “Good thing you are a freak.”

* * *

Though Grif never blamed him, Simmons was aware of his responsibility. Grif was not only a Qunari, he was a slave and a prisoner. It wasn’t right. Neither legal.

He kept thinking about the demon in the Fade. He knew he’d been enough desperate for companionship to converse with a Qunari, but he wasn’t so far lost that he was willing to keep Grif imprisoned just to be sure he had someone to talk with. He was better than that. Though, the thought of an empty stable felt depressing more than anything.

“I think Genkins has a Qunari slave,” Simmons eventually blabbered out as Bitters walked him back to the Circle.

Bitters never seemed to react except for a dull “Oh.”

Suddenly, Simmons began to wonder if Bitters had watched him more closely in the mansion than expected. But he forced himself to think past that worry, and he tried to keep his voice straight as he pointed out, “Isn’t- isn’t slavery illegal?”

“Well, stuff still happens if it isn’t allowed.”

Simmons thought about the servants in Genkins’ mansion and the ones that had lived in his old home. He didn’t remember much from that early in his childhood, but he did recall the nice Elf woman in the kitchen who would give him candy whenever he came crying from one of his father’s scolding.

And as his father told him goodbye before sending him off to the Circle, he’d been told the truth. That one of the servants were his real mother, that he was an outcome of his father’s bad decision. That it would be best for the family legacy if Simmons was sent far away.

Half-elves always looked human. Simmons had pulled at his ears so many time after the revelation, trying to feel if they were pointy. He knew he should feel lucky – he’d seen how the city would frown at the Elves in their Alienage.

One of his teachers at the Circle had come to begun to call him by his last name. Mages were not supposed to have any connections to their family, but Simmons had eventually realized that perhaps the old, wise eyes had known more than expected. It’d been a kindness, something to make Simmons feel less like a piece of thrown away trash, and Simmons had welcomed the kindness.

To be treated like you were worth something was something Grif deserved, too.

“But- can we report it,” he stuttered to the Templar. Turning his head, he saw the busy life of the city, people walking up and down the streets, their mask unchanging and disinterested, oblivious to the matter of their conversation.

Bitters was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, he sounded thoughtful. “I don’t think it’s very safe to move a Qunari.”

“He won’t harm anyone-“ Simmons began, and then fell quiet as he understood that was not what the Templar meant. It was the other way around. Just like the Circle. The Templars would protect you, they’d told him when his magic had shown itself, but until then he’d only heard that Templars protected anyone from the mages themselves.

For a moment he considered telling Bitters about Grif’s accusations of Genkins being a mage.

But he knew that no one would believe the word of a Qunari.

* * *

He needed proof. That was why found himself walking towards the Grand Duke’s private quarters, feeling more and more like a burglar. But he was doing this for the right reasons, he knew this.

Mages should not roam around freely. That was why Simmons stayed in the Circle, to obey the words of the Maker, to keep the world safe and live up to the duties.

People like Genkins… Well, Simmons had come to know that the man wasn’t exactly kind.

But he’d seen fellow mages suffer in their new home in the Circle, longing for freedom, crying at night. Exposing a mage seeking freedom felt like betrayal.

Simmons shook his head. There were rules to obey – also moral ones. He thought of Grif and knew that he at least had to investigate. Maybe he could find a staff, or a spell book.

He never made it inside the room.

The moment his palm touched the cool metal of doorknob, the lightning travelled up his arms, seemingly crushing his spine with its power.

Simmons had been struck by electricity spells before. Never on purpose in an actual attack, but spells had to be taught and sometimes the younger apprentices would get it wrong, and Simmons had been unlucky enough to be in the path of the spell.

It had hurt.

But not like this.

When Simmons came to, he was lying in a crumbled heap on the cold floor. At least he hadn’t screamed, he supposed as he tried to collect his thoughts. All his movements were jerky, and he couldn’t manage to open his mouth, only to bite his tongue.

He leaned heavily against the wall as he slowly limped out of the mansion, fingers twitching and vision blurry.

Outside the stable, he tried his best to call Grif’s name, but his jaw refused to move, his tongue was too tired and his thoughts were too scattered. But a sound must have left his mouth, because Grif became aware of his presence.

“Simmons?” he said and brown eyes peeked through the boards. Maybe Simmons was too pale or maybe he just noticed to twitching – no matter what, he seemed to recognize Simmons’ half-conscious state. “Ah, shit. Come here. Just let me-“ He moved to the other side, towards the door that Simmons had never dared to open. “Can you open the door? It doesn’t need a key or anything.”

It was a simple latch. All it needed was for Simmons to twist the metal, but his fingers couldn’t quite grasp the bolt, they shook too much and kept slipping.

It seemed like a miracle when he finally got it right, the door sliding open by itself since the wooden door was the only thing keeping Simmons upright. When it gave after for his weight, he fell into Grif’s arms instead.

“Shit,” the Qunari said before dragging him with ease towards the corner of the stable. Simmons, limp but brain awake, realized it must be his bed – a thicker layer of straw and a blanket filled with holes.

Grif put him down on it, and Simmons could not hold back a whimper when his entire body twitched again.

 “Yeah, it’s gonna take a while before it passes,” Grif said. Simmons tried not to think about how Grif must know so much about the spell. “Just try not to bite off your tongue or anything.”

His muscles were too tense for his body to relax, but Grif sat down next to him, and the heat radiating from the huge Qunari was somehow comforting. When Grif’s thumb dug into his shoulders, massaging to release the tight muscles, Simmons’ mouth let out another strangled sound, less painfilled this time.

When he was turned over to lie on his back, he found himself staring straight at the ceiling. He wondered how many hours Grif must have spent like this, just staring, left with nothing to do. Not even a sky to watch, though Simmons doubted the roof wouldn’t leak during downfall.

And then he thought of himself, lying in his bed at the Circle. He knew he cried when he had first been brought there, but he’d been a child – many of the young mages cried and sobbed and screamed as they tried to adjust to their new life. Simmons had been a quick learner. But he’d spent hours awake, staring at the stone ceiling, thoughts going the world he was no longer allowed to visit.

“What the hell were you trying to do?” Grif asked him when he was finally able to move his mouth again.

He liked his dry lips, flexing his fingers. “If he’s- he’s a mage, then he-“ He closed his eyes, cursing his own stupidity. Of course the door would be enchanted, of course Genkins had his security measures. “If I could prove-“

Grif’s warm fingers enclosed his hands, fingers massaging his palm. “The hell, Simmons, do you think he’d just leave his secrets lying around in the open?”

“I found you,” Simmons managed to reply.

Genkins had done a bad job of hiding him. It was as if he never really cared. Even as a slave, Grif was never truly put to work unless for punishment. He was just locked inside here, threatened with magic, left to rot or go insane in time.

Simmons’ thoughts turned less dark when Grif squeezed his hand again. “Yeah, well-“ the Qunari said, turning his head to reveal a blush on his dark cheeks. “I don’t really count as a secret.”

* * *

After that it only made sense to continue their conversations inside the stable. When he’d opened the door once, it couldn’t cause more damage to do it again.

The smell of the straw still tickled his nose, but Simmons tried to make the scene more comfortable by sneaking it more blankets and food. Grif seemed to appreciate the change, and somehow Simmons managed to talk him into saving some of his treats instead of stuffing them all into his mouth at once.

The task would soon have to end. Simmons wasn’t sure what to do – he’d written down all his observation, answered the questions he could, underlining the many questions still left unanswered, and Grif was still in his stable. Simmons didn’t feel like he was being a very good mage. He didn’t even know what the orb could do.

But he was quite sure that Genkins would not be too mad about the remaining mysteries. At least not compared to the crime of conversing with his secret slave. Simmons was sure that would be more of an offense.

Still, he brought his books with him in the hopes of a sudden revelation. But it was hard to read with Grif napping next to him, snoring, sometimes practically falling on top of him.

“Fatass,” Simmons huffed as he shoved the Qunari off him. Tried to, at least. He was nearly crushed beneath the weight.

Once he asked Grif what he thought the orb was. “Probably something to do with dragons,” the Qunari said while licking cake crumbs off his fingers. “Genkins looooves dragons.”

* * *

The day the Grand Duke returned, Simmons began his morning by walking into the mansion and hearing yells in the distance. The walls muffled it, and he realized it must be coming from the gardens. He recognized the voice too.

Grif.

And he sounded angry.

Simmons swallowed and the orb in his hands felt warmer than ever. He knew better than to try to find the source of the yelling – if it involved him, the Grand Duke would face him eventually.

It was hot again today, and Simmons found it hard to breathe the dry air. It didn’t help when Genkins showed up next to him seemingly out of nowhere, stealing the book from Simmons' hands.

 “Care to join for me lunch? Of course you do,” he said, before leading Simmons to the balcony. Simmons didn’t know anything else to do but follow.

The table had already been prepared for them: plates filled with cut fruit, newly baked bread and cold wine.

It was so sweet against his tongue. Simmons tried not to wince as he thought about how everything in Orlais was too sweet, the treats, the wine, the smiling masks. He was suddenly hit by a feeling of homesickness, a longing for the dinners he’d had as a child in Ferelden, salty meat and dried herbs.

Genkins wanted to know how far he’d come with his work, and Simmons tried to keep his fingers for shaking as he read from his papers.

The Grand Duke leaned back in his seat as Simmons talked, resting his feet on the table.

 “-and the Chrovos symbol is repeated again here…” he trailed off, thoughts distracted by the low sound of a groan. He turned his head, looking through the railings and down the courtyard beneath them. Grif was dragging bricks again, straps tightened around his shoulders and sweat dropping from his shaking body.

A single drop of sweat fell from Simmons’ upper lip. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight as he asked Genkins, “I, uh… Are you building a new corridor, Grand Duke?”

“No,” Genkins replied and the mask turned to follow Simmons’ glance.

The never-changing expression didn’t soothe Simmons’ anxiety.

Holding up his own glass of wine, Genkins gestured towards the papers on the table. “Do you suspect it might have connection to the Deep Roads?” he asked calmly.

“I, uh… It could be, with the mention of old thrones and-“ Simmons’ eyes kept going to the courtyard where Grif was still struggling to move.

The sun burned hot above them.

“I met a Warden who promised to give me a grand tour the next time I visit a Thaig,” Genkins let him know with a thoughtful hum. “Such interesting places. Dwarves are marvelous when it comes to enchantment. These days everything is made by Tranquils but it does leave a dirty taste in your mouth, doesn’t it? Slave work.”

Simmons remembered the choice he’d been forced to make – go through the Harrowing or become a Tranquil. He’d considered the latter. The thought of the demon had scared him, but the thought of failure was even more terrifying. That he would become possessed and the Templars would strike him down, and then the rumors would spread – Simmons failed, Simmons wasn’t strong enough, Simmons wasn’t good enough.

Tranquility had for a brief moment felt safer. He knew the consequences: cutting his connections to his magic, to the Fade, would deprive him of all dreams, of all emotions. He’d met several Tranquil and even though they were polite, they had always managed to creep him out. Their dull voice, blank eyes, the mark in the middle of their forehead to show the world what they were. People would avoid them, look down at them, and they would be put to work by letting them enchant artifacts, their cut connection to the Fade leaving them capable of working with lyrium.

Tranquils would never be possessed, never be tempted, because they had their emotions taking from them.

In the end, Simmons had chosen to face the demon.

“But of course that is just a matter of opinion!” the Grand Duke exclaimed. “And I can be quite outspoken at times. But that’s barely a crime.” The mask was tilted as he leaned closer to Simmons. “You look thirsty. Only natural on a hot day like this.”

Simmons didn’t watch him pour wine into his crystal glass. His eyes were glued to Grif who had collapsed in the courtyard, chest heaving for air, limbs trembling. The taste of the wine left Simmons feeling sick.

“Does he- does he need help?” he managed to stutter while his face felt numb.

“Of course not. He’s a Qunari.” Genkins waved away the idea. “Have you ever seen one of those before? Quite a rare sight. Especially in Orlais. Maybe you stumbled across one in Ferelden?”

Through the slits of the mask, Simmons saw that Genkins’ eyes were green, so piercing that they almost seemed to glow.

Simmons didn’t dare to break the eye-contact. “No,” he said, licking his dry lips. They tasted of salt, of sweat. “I’m afraid not.”

“I know a Circle in Ferelden,” Genkins practically poured as he raised his glass. “In Rard. So far away, I am glad I chose yours instead. Your study certainly proves interesting. I’m sure you think so yourself!”

* * *

Simmons first saw his chance to disappear in the late afternoon when the sun had begun to set. Genkins had kept him busy until then, asking questions and telling tales of his own adventures. It had left him feeling nauseous and exhausted.

Though, he was sure that Grif must be feeling worse. The Grand Duke had led him inside, saying the heat must be making it hard to read, and so Simmons never had the chance to see if Grif had managed to get up from the ground.

Now sure that Genkins knew more than what was safe, Simmons made sure to stay crouched and keep his voice as a whisper as he called out his name, “Grif?” His heart skipped a beat at the thought of finding the stable empty again. He wasn’t sure what that would mean, but he feared it nonetheless. “Grif?”

And when he was finally answered, relief hit his heart. Then fear.

“Little tied up at the moment,” came Grif’s voice from the other side of the wood. It sounded hoarse. Pained.

Simmons rushed to the door, fumbling with the lock before stepping inside.

Grif was standing up. No, that wasn’t right description. He was forced to stand. Chains were wrapped around his biggest horns, curling around them like a snake choking its prey. They reached upwards, attached to a ring in the ceiling, forcing Grif’s neck to bend backwards, stretching his body into a strained position.

The sweat was trickling down his bare torso and Simmons was close enough to watch the drops fall. Then he raised his head, watching how Grif was biting his lip, obviously in pain.

“Shit,” Simmons said, running over to help. The Qunari was so tall that Simmons had to stand on his toes to just touch the chains with his fingers. “Okay, I can-“

His fingers wrapped around the metal – and Simmons screamed. He let go, falling back into the straw, vision flashing into white.

“Simmons?” Grif said, shifting as he tried to get closer to him. Despite his own pain, he sounded genuinely concerned.

Knowing that he had to calm him down, Simmons croaked, “I’m alright.” Wincing, he slowly uncurled his fingers. They were filled with blisters, as if he had touched hot iron.

He wondered if Qunaris had nerves in their horns, if Grif could feel the enchanted flames, too.

Simmons’ jaw dropped, trying to imagine what Grif had yelled at Genkins this morning in order to deserve this level of punishment. “Why is he-? What did you do?”

“Called him a dickhead.” Despite his pained expression, Grif somehow managed to look smug.

“That seems a little extreme,” Simmons said, glancing at his blisters that seemed to swell. They would leave scars, he was sure of that. But first they would become wounds and Simmons had never been the best at healing spells.

“Well,” Grif said, groaning. “I must have shoved his mage staff up his ass in a previous life.”

Now Simmons was the one to bite his lip, looking at the chains in worry, watching how an orange glow seemed to embrace the metals in waves. He wished he’d noticed the enchantment before touching it.

He needed to get them off Grif, but how – and what if Genkins found out –

The sound of footsteps made Simmons spin around, and by instinct he could feel the heat in his palm, ready to shoot a ball of fire if necessary. It was a stupid idea, naturally – it would only get the both of them killed, but Grif’s pain had flailed his nerves, making him jumpy.

But it was merely a winded Bitters who appeared in the doorway, helmet off as he gasped for air. His hand was on his sword, and Simmons realized he must have heard his scream.

Then the Templar’s eyes widened, seeing the Qunari behind the mage. “Uh-“ he said, eyes jumping from Grif to Simmons.

“’sup?” the Qunari said, looking down at him the best he could with his head stuck in the strained position.

“Hi,” Bitters said dully, raising a hand in a weak greeting. At least he hadn’t raised his sword. Turning to Simmons, he proceeded to say, “Uh, I don’t think you should be doing this.”

Simmons winced. He couldn’t deny the truth in that. “Probably not.”

“The Grand Duke is looking for you, and he is- I don’t know.” Bitters’ eyes drifted again, obviously unsure of the situation. “He said it was important.”

With the Templar right next to him, Simmons knew he didn’t have much of a choice. He shared one final glance with Grif who closed his eyes. The blisters in his hands seemed to hurt more when he left the stable, closing the door with a sigh.

Bitters must have noticed how he kept flexing his fingers. He asked quietly, “You didn’t shoot fire, right? ’cause I’m pretty sure I’d get fired if that was the case.”

“No,” Simmons said, breath hiccupping. His eyes felt as if they were burning, too. “I didn’t, I swear.”

“I’m not a snitch,” Bitters insisted. He seemed awfully serious about that statement, a contrast to his usual careless behavior.

Simmons blinked in surprise. “…I’m pretty sure that’s your job.”

The Templar squared his shoulders, looking straight ahead. He sounded haunted as he said, “Yeah, well, I suck at it.”

* * *

Genkins was sitting with the orb in his lap, stroking it like a cat. Its magic glowed beneath his hands.

Bowing briefly, Simmons sat down in the chair in front of him, making sure to fold his hands in order to hide the blisters.

“Tevinter mages are quite powerful, I hear,” Genkins said, resting a finger on the pointy end of the mustache. “So I can only imagine this thing must be as well. How funny! And here I thought it was just some useless shiny knick-knack! But it will still look good on my dresser.”

“I’m glad,” Simmons said, his voice a bit too dull. He was too tired to put up a façade, too sore, and he had a growing feeling that it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Genkins’ smiling mask was staring at him. “I’ve read your full report,” he said. “It’s such a shame you can’t seem to locate the magic, but the symbol of the Old Gods should make anyone quiver in their pants.”

Simmons understood the fear. Anything related to Darkspawns had to be bad, and it didn’t help that Genkins had his hands on it. “Of course I could only do my best to transcript and guess and-“

“Oh, you have done a marvelous job! Just splendid! Exactly what I needed!” Genkins tilted his head. “And it seems like you have been having fun as well.” There was an uncomfortable pause before he added, “I am winking to you, by the way!”

Unsure of what else to do, Simmons awkwardly winked back at the Grand Duke.

“Are you interested in how to get your own oxman?” He hummed in amusement at Simmons’ shocked expression. Then he laughed, throwing his head back. “Don’t worry, it can be our little secret. I’m winking. Again.”

This time, Simmons didn’t wink back. He just stared, sitting frozen in his seat, awaiting what would come next.

“It’s quite easy, actually,” the Grand Duke said. He picked up his glass of wine, never drinking it, just tilting it back and forth to see the liquid swirl. “First you gotta track them down, which is a quick task. Citizens tend to remember if they see any giants with horns. So when you find them, they are lost and hungry and cold and desperate and in need of a new group to hide in. Because Qunaris can’t just walk around on their own, you see. Too much of a risk for them, memories of the war and all that sentimental heartache.”

Simmons clenched his fists so tightly he felt blisters burst at the pressure.

Genkins did not stop talking. “And if you are in luck, there are two of them. A male, and a younger sister. But your luck ends up bittersweet. Because you are not the first – a mercenary group is already there, interested in big Qunari muscles for hire. But while not the fastest, you are the richest, so you strike a deal. They get to keep one, you take the other. You only need one after all. And to be fair for all, you let the Qunaris choose where to go. You’re not cruel. The world is cruel, and you are just living your life. They are the desperate ones, and you offer them shelter.”

Simmons didn’t say anything. He just remained quiet, doing his best to keep breathing as he was forced to listen of the sad tale of Grif’s imprisonment.

“The mercenary group is more chatty, apparently. More familiar. Safer. So the Qunaris cry – they can actually do that. It comes as a surprise to some. Understandable! We all know the stories – big, horned, grey-skinned monsters without mercy. Well, it’s not like they can go to their own kind either. So they accept the deal. The sister gets a new job as a mercenary. The brother gets to go with the scary, rich Orlesian lord. _Me_.”

“But why?” Simmons finally gasped. He wasn’t even sure what else to say.

The Grand Duke didn’t _need_ a slave. He didn’t even put Grif to work. He just kept him in the stable, out of sight, out of mind.

At least mages were kept imprisoned for their skills.

“And here I thought you were the smart one!” Genkins exclaimed and laughed. “Tsk, Simmons, it’s an easy answer for your clever brain. Look around.” As Simmons did was he was told, the Grand Duke spread out his arms, pointing at their environment, all the statues and goblets and jewels decorating the room. “I collect rare artifacts. Because it amuses me. It makes me happy. It makes me feel rich. And powerful. Like a god. It feels so good, I can really recommend it. And a living Qunari – well, how many can brag about having one of those in their backyard?” He leaned forward in his seat, so close that Simmons could see his green eyes. “Interested in getting one for yourself?”

Simmons felt as if he was back in the Fade, facing a demon.

His silence was enough of an answer. “Ah, you don’t want _one_. You want mine,” Genkins said with a patronizing voice. “Naughty, naughty boy. The Chantry frowns at jealousy, you know.”

Years of prayers and lectures made Simmons open his mouth, ready to apologize for his sin, but he managed to stop himself in time, realizing he had nothing to be sorry for.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you what you want,” Genkins told him. “I can’t let go of Grif – I am far too sentimental when it comes to him. But thank you for your work! It has certainly been an enlightening experience.”

He stood up, grabbing the stunned Simmons’ hand, making sure to squeeze it enough for the blisters to hurt as if he was set on fire again.

A servant opened the door for them, and Genkins sent Simmons out of the mansion with a promise: “I’ll be sure to let your First Enchanter know how hard a worker you are!”

* * *

That night, the First Enchanter let Simmons know that he was going to be transferred to the Circle in Rard. He explained that the Grand Duke had made it clear that someone with Simmons’ skills must help the Circle rise to new standards.

Simmons just nodded, seeing from the corner of his eyes how the Templars suddenly had their hands on their swords.

The tears didn’t leave his eyes until he’d reached the solitude of his bed. He sobbed quietly, despite knowing that none of the other mages would blame him.

They had all heard of other Circles – Circles were the Templars were not as pleasant as here. They’d all heard of tortured mages, treated like vermin. And the Circle in Rard had earned its nickname Rat’s Nest by having more mages locked in the dungeon than in the sleeping quarters.

Simmons couldn’t sleep that night, his mind too busy imagining the horrors he would face.

The Chantry had always taught him that one bad decision could ruin his life, and Simmons felt too numb to be shocked by Genkins’ punishment.

* * *

He spent the next day wandering around in the Circle, trying to say goodbye to the environment that had been his home for almost ten years. So many stone walls, he noted in bitterness. But he would probably come to miss them in due time, and with a sigh Simmons turned away to them, heading towards the Circle’s garden instead.

It was nowhere as colorful as Genkins’. It mainly consisted of herbs instead of flowers. But they reminded Simmons of his days with extended freedom, the days with Grif. His burnt fingers continued to hurt.

To his annoyance, he became aware of the presence behind him. A Templar shadowing him, staying close no matter where Simmons walked. Usually he would ignore them. He would never do anything wrong, and so they would never have to step in.

But now they only managed to increase his headache, and he wished they would just disappear, that he could walk around freely, that he could do whatever he wanted so he could save-

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts. He might as well get used to the Templars’ mistrust. It would only become worse from now on.

A glove of metal grabbed his shoulder, and Simmons halted immediately. He closed his eyes, not even sure of how they could punish him further. They were already sending him away, washing their hands off his offenses against the Grand Duke.

“You are walking too quickly, slow down. The fuck.”

He recognized that voice. “Bitters?” he said, surprising himself with how happy he sounded. He hadn’t seen the young Templar since he’d led him to the First Enchanter the day before.

“The armor is heavy, alright?” Bitters said through the pants. Some seconds later, he’d managed to catch his breath and he straightened his back. “I know about Rat’s Nest.”

The nickname still sent chills down Simmons’ spine. “Please tell me you know some nice Templars in there and it’s all just mean rumors-“

“No, the place sucks and you’re fucked.”

Simmons let his shoulders fall. Well, there went the remains of his tiny hope.

“I can get you out,” Bitters then said in a hushed whisper.

He blinked, unsure if he had heard him right. “What?” he croaked.

And then the shadow fell on them both.

“He said that he is going to help you escape,” loud voice rumbled. It was another Templar, much larger than Bitters. “And maybe he shouldn’t talk so loud about such manners while people might walk the hallways.”

Simmons was sure he was about to wet his robes. Maybe if the Templar just killed him now, he could escape the horrors of Rat’s Nest. But what if they still sent him away, just telling the other Circle how bad Simmons’ thoughts were, that he was a rebel. Maybe he was made Tranquil against his will, maybe they would torture him, maybe-

 “It’s fine,” Bitters said, expression unchanging. “This is Smith. He’s chill.”

“I’m not,” the Templar said, a scowl evident in his tone. However, his voice softened as he turned his visor towards Simmons. “But I am sympathetic. Now, let’s follow Simmons to the sleeping halls while the others go to prayer. After all, he is quite busy if he needs to be ready to travel to Rat’s Nest tomorrow.”

Simmons stared back at him. “…Are you winking behind the visor?” he eventually asked, sensing the motion.

Bitters just sighed, a palm against his own helmet. “I hate this stupid armor so much.”

* * *

“You helped the mages escape?” Simmons said when they’d reached the empty sleeping quarters, not trying to hide his astonishment.

That would explain why the mages were never found. If Templars helped them against other Templars…

“Palomo and Jensen?” Bitters said before nodding. “Yeah. We grew up in the same village. Then they got taken to the Circle, and we ended up as Templar ‘cause it sounded way cooler than being a farmer, but- It sucks. A lot.”

He’d lowered his head, and before Simmons could make eye-contact, Smith had stepped in front of him to take the word. “What he is trying to say is that our friends craved their freedom. And we came to realize that perhaps this order isn’t as flawless as we thought it to be.”

Hope sparked inside Simmons’ chest again. “Can you help me out, too?” he said. “I- I’ve heard things about Rat’s Nest and-“

“So we did we,” Smith cut him off, tone still soft. “And we may have pulled some strings. There’s a mercenary ship in the harbor tomorrow and you need to get on it.”

“I-“ Simmons trailed off. Fleeing would mean becoming a criminal, becoming an apostate. It would mean going against the rules he’d followed all his life. He’d never imagined becoming this desperate, letting go of this much. A part of him reminded him it would probably just lead to his death, that he would be caught eventually. But he knew he was more afraid of Rat’s Nest and the horrors he would have to suffer there for the rest of his life. “But my phylactery-“

“Don’t worry. We have ways of seeing them destroyed. We are professionals.” Smith puffed out his chest – a seemingly impossible task with his already giant chest plate.

“What he means is that we pulled this off once,” Bitters cut in. “But it turned out well, so…”

It didn’t soothe Simmons’ anxiety, but it didn’t give him more options either. “Okay,” he said, breathing in. “Okay. I’ll do it.” As he’d sealed his own fate, he raised his head, eyes widening. “Grif can go with me, right?”

“Who’s Grif?” Bitters asked.

“The Qunari in the stable.”

“ _What_?” Smith gasped, looking at the both of them.

“Oh yeah, that happened,” Bitters snorted, but instead of filling his friend in on the Grand Duke’s secret, he just said, “Look, it’s pretty fucking hard to hide you mages. Pretty sure a giant man with horns will get spotted.”

Simmons gulped. “But-“ he said, struggling to find the right words despite knowing that he needed to convince them, that this was Grif’s last chance. He kept seeing the Qunari inside his mind, neck bent as the chains tightened around his horns. “But Genkins is an asshole-“

“Are we mocking the Grand Duke now?” Smith asked, obviously uncomfortable at this point.

Simmons’ didn’t let that stop him. “-and a secret mage and a slaver and we can’t let Grif stay with him!”

There was silence when he finished his very brief speech. Then Bitters groaned, running his hand across his face. “Look, we are taking some huuuuuuge risk breaking your ass out. I’m not trying to steal from a Grand Duke. I like my neck. And limbs in general.”

“Then why don’t you work out more?” Smith said dryly. Then his teasing stopped and his eyes turned serious again. He folded his hands. “For once, I must agree with Bitters.”

“I’ll break him out,” Simmons said. “I just need the time-“

“A breakout require a tight schedule-“

“Please.” Simmons didn’t have anything to give them. He already owed them so much, his own life in fact. They were risking everything to free him, to give him a second chance, to let him escape a cruel fate.

He had no money, nothing of value, no strings to pull.

He could only seek their eyes and plead until he lost what little dignity he had left.

The sound of Bitters sighing suddenly became the sweetest relief in the world. “This is a really bad idea…” the Templar said, and Simmons smiled in relief.

* * *

 

Simmons only carried his mage staff. He had nothing else of value, and Smith had promised him that there would be food awaiting them at the ship. The Templars had wished him luck after escorting him out of the Circle in the middle of the night.

The deal was to meet them again half an hour later by the docks.

Of course, this required for Simmons to succeed at his mission.

The gate to Genkins’ mansion was unlocked, and Simmons was almost surprised when he could touch it without getting his hands burnt or electrified. But he was too busy to be thankful for long, and so he hurried into the shadows of the great building, making his way towards the stable.

He opened the door with ease. Genkins had no reason to lock it – Grif already feared his powers too much to attempt to escape and…

And Grif couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

He was half-awake when Simmons burst into his home, the glowing chains keeping him upright. His entire body limp with exhaustion, a couple of second passed before he blinked, becoming aware of the situation. “Simmons?” he asked, eyes lightening up in surprise.

“I’m about to do something very, very stupid,” Simmons warned him. Then he raised his staff, aiming it towards the ceiling where the chains were connected to a silver ring. He steadied himself, his mind reaching through the Veil to call for the needed magic.

A blue ray of frost shot from the glowing orb at the top of his staff. It hit the glowing metal with a sizzling sound, but Simmons refused to budge, keeping a tight grip on his weapon and forcing the cold to continue.

He’d just close his eyes in concentration when he heard the sound of something heavy hit the floor.

Grif was on his hands and knees, and Simmons knew he couldn’t have caught him even if he had tried. The fatass would merely have crushed him in the process.

 “What the hell?” Grif gasped, looking up at Simmons, and for the first time the mage saw fear in his eyes.

For a split second he felt his heart split in two – Grif had seen what he truly was, a dangerous mage, capable of unleashing terrible magic into the world.

Then he let out a sigh of relief, seeing that Grif was staring at the broken chains hanging from his horns. There was no way to hide this from Genkins. This was a fatal mistake if caught, but Simmons didn’t intend for that to happen.

He crouched down in front of the Qunari, pressing his entire body against him in attempt to pull him upright.  “C’mon, fatass, we are breaking out of here.”

“What are you doing here?” Grif asked him weakly. His eyes were widened, glazed over, as if seeing an illusion.

“Making bad life choices,” Simmons said through gritted teeth. “ _C’mon_. You’re so fucking heavy-”

“Being here is a really fucking bad idea, I thought you’d finally realized that,” Grif said, but he was at least standing up now despite his shaking knees. He kept looking at Simmons, hand clasped around his wrist, as if testing if he was real or not.

In a painful second, Simmons understood that Grif never knew of Genkins’ decision to get rid of him. Grif had just been left alone in the stable, waiting for Simmons to visit him again, never knowing why he never arrived.

“You’re supposed to be smart,” the Qunari breathed out.

“Well, I think your stupidity rubbed off on me,” Simmons mumbled as he attempted to pull Grif towards the open door. Of course he would never manage to properly do so, but he could at least make it clear that he had to follow him. “There’s a ship waiting for us,” he told Grif. “We’re leaving.”

His jaw fell, and it was difficult for Simmons to stop himself from smirking.

“Fuck, you’re an idiot,” Grif just said, shaking his head as he stepped forward.

“Touché.”

Grif was practically stumbling out of the stable, limbs weak and stiff, but Simmons noticed in relief how his speed seemed to increase the more they walked. It was as if the idea of leaving filled him with an eagerness, reflected in the strange look in his eyes.

By the time they reached the gate, he was practically running. Grif was the one to open it, pushing it with his hand.

Simmons heard a hiss, then noticed that the Qunari had come to a halt. “Grif?”

He was staring at this palm that had been covered with a layer of ice. It cracked, falling off in pieces when he clenched his fist. “Asshole,” Grif muttered under his breath, voice trembling with anger.

As they ran from the mansion, Simmons looked over his shoulder, noticing the silhouette in the window. He could almost imagine the moonlight being reflected in the silver mask…

But no one stopped them as they disappeared into the alleys of the city. Bitters had given him a map to study as preparation for the escape. Simmons had tried to memorize it the best he could, but in the dark the fear of getting lost was increasing by the second. Just head South, he reminded himself. That was the direction of the harbor.

“Are you always this slow?” he hissed at Grif who kept falling behind. They could not risk being late. Not now.

“I’m running on an empty stomach, alright.”

“You have literally been dragging around bricks for years, how are you this out of shape?”

“I never claimed to be good at it!”

At one point Grif managed to get stuck in a narrow alley, horns pressed against the crooked walls. He kept cursing, kicking against the ground in a futile attempt to get free.

Simmons was so stressed he almost doubled over in laughter at the sight. “Need help?”

The Qunari just glared at him. “I hate you puny humans so much.”

“I’m a half-elf, remember?”

“You’re a badass,” he told Simmons as he grasped his horns, trying to pull them out of their position without breaking the tips. The surface of the horns was smoother than he’d imagined. Grif inhaled sharply before adding, “And I’ll deny that if anyone asks.”

“Damnit,” Simmons said dully with a smile on his face.

A moment later, Grif was free.        

Well, his horns were free. They first achieved their freedom as they reached the docks without getting caught.

Bitters was waiting for them by the ship. Without his uniform, he seemed oddly small. “You’re late,” he said as they finally arrived, Simmons winded and Grif basically gasping for air.

“Says you,” Smith snorted next to him. Bitters stuck out of his tongue.

For a moment, Grif just stayed in the shadow, watching both Templars in interest. It occurred to Simmons how long it must have been since he’d been around this many people.

He understood. In fact, he felt just as nervous. This was leaving everything behind to step into the unknown. But perhaps…. Perhaps the unknown was kinder than their previous lives. It was a chance that Simmons was willing to take.

It was Grif who the first one to step forward. Smith stared at his horns with widened eyes, but the Qunari didn’t seem to mind. “I hope this ship has a real bed,” he said as he stepped onto the ship. Simmons was sure he saw it sway slightly under the new weight.

“Uhm, you might be a bit too big for it,” Smith said, still stunned by the presence of the Qunari.

“He’ll find a way,” Simmons said dryly. He knew that Grif could sleep _anywhere_.

The Templars didn’t wave at them as the ship began to move. They just disappeared into the shadows of the city, hoping to return to the Circle before any suspicion was raised against them.

Simmons hoped they would succeed.

 “Thanks,” Grif suddenly said. He’d craned his neck to look at the starry sky above them. “I _hate_ owing people, but you seem like a guy I can manipulate into forgetting my debt.”

“I figured you could be my bodyguard or something.” He wasn’t being entirely truthful. He hadn’t dared to think too much about their new future, though the Qunari next to him filled him with several dreams. Some too good to come true.

Grif looked down at him with his gentle eyes. “What happened to the big scary mage reputation?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Nerd.”

“Fatass.”

Grif gave his shoulder a nudge, almost causing him to fall over. As Simmons stumbled forwards, the saw the city disappear into the darkness as the ship sailed away. His breathing hitched – and then he exhaled when Grif sent him a thankful smile.

Simmons opened his mouth-

-only to be cut off by a gruff voice, “Would you two cuddle doves stop with the damn blandishments and listen up.” It took a second before he tilted his head to become aware of the scarred face of a dwarf glaring up at him. “Welcome on Red Team, ladies.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short one-shot. Supposed. I failed. I am so sorry.
> 
> I know I changed some lore, as little as possible. First of all Qunaris are meant to have white hair, but fuck that. Also, there is no city named Rard, and no Circles in Ferelden except Kinloch Hold, but again, forgive me for that. This story is somewhat set before the games, as in no mage rebellion yet and no Breach in the sky.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> IMPORTANT: Okay, I can continue this AU. The plot certainly leads to a continuation. However, I have so many fics at the moment, so I decided to keep this a one-shot (a really long one). That being said, it won't mean I won't return to this AU, however, I probably won't if you guys prefer my other fics. So yeah, if you wanna see more of this AU, please let me know so I can keep this in mind! I would love to write, but sadly I can't write all what I want at once, so I gotta prioritize, and you guys can help me decide. So please holler if you liked this piece. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to share your thoughts through comments.
> 
> As always: English isn't my native language and you can find me as riathedreamer on tumblr and twitter.
> 
> And thank you so much to the wonderful Creatrixanimi for the illustration of Qunari!Grif


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